


This Side of Paradise (Eden Revisited)

by MysteriousLights



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Aziraphale will be a bit of a bastard and Crowley will be a bit of a disaster, First Meetings, Fluff, Human AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, flowershop, i love these two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-18 22:00:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19343497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousLights/pseuds/MysteriousLights
Summary: Crowley owns a flowershop and meets Aziraphale buying flowers for his boss.





	1. Beginnings

 

Crowley understood the difference between the implicit image “flowershop owner” conjured and himself. A Flowershop was not a place one would expect a leather and sunglasses wearing, vaguely antagonistic, red-haired man with a checkered past to be in much less own. However, thinking too hard on the meandering abrupt misdirections life tended to take led to madness. Madness, Crowley had formed some familiarity with back when he was surrounded by the devout and had dedicated a good chunk of his life questioning whether there was a higher power and how it could possibly be a caring one. Rather, Crowley had learned to take pleasure in the small things in life. Pleasures like the exact volume a song needed to drown out his surroundings and his own thoughts, his antique car that he had learned to maintain and repair, his plants, and a good bottle of wine. 

The latter he had overindulged in last night and was now suffering the aftereffects. A headache dully roared as he rearranged his inventory and Crowley affixed his glasses more firmly to his face to block out the rays of the rising sun.  _ At least it's too early for any that nonsense.  _ Nonsense, in this case, referring to customers. 

But before he could so much as knock on wood, the door’s front bell chimed and in leaned a stout, white-blonde man in the most hideous sweater he had ever seen, seeming  as if he was somewhat uncertain they were really open, nevermind said door had their hours on it. “Hello?” Though the blond man’s voice was clear, it still rang of meekness. That, more than anything, prompted Crowley to cut his internal debate of hiding behind his plants short, and step into view.   
“Ah! Good morning, I hope I’m not too early.” How the man managed to ooze such earnestness so early in the morning was a mystery to Crowley. “ ‘Morning. No, you’re fine.” Crowley said as he tried to wrestle his expression away from a grimace. “I was hoping to have a custom bouquet? I recently came across a book on flower language and I thought to myself what a--” Oh no, he was one of those. Crowley waved his hand to cut the customer’s no doubt lengthy explanation short. “No problem, I can’t guarantee everything is in season, but we should be able to get your message across.” Moving behind the counter, he looked at the man expectantly. “Oh, yes. Ah-, sorry. I’d like lavender, azaela, any borage if you have it, hydrangeas-” “Blue, pink, or purple?” “Oh, err, how about purple, because of the others.” 

Crowley got to work, pulling out the appropriate flowers to start arranging. However, something was niggling in the back of Crowley’s mind, his 6th sense saying mischief was afoot. Sure, lavender could mean devotion, but it could easily mean distrust as well. Borage could refer to courage since soldiers had once held placed those flowers in their mouths before a battle to encourage bravery, or it could mean bluntness or rudeness. Hydrangeas, he forgot what the colors meant, only that it changed with regards to acidity of the soil; if he wasn’t mistaken, they could mean either  vanity and boastfulness or it could mean the giver's gratefulness for the recipient's understanding. Crowley tried to look up without moving his neck to study the blond. In his most casual tone, he asked, “So what’s the occasion?”  Nervously clasping his hands, the man replied. “An office party. It’s my boss’s 10th anniversary since he took over and I thought flowers would be a nice gift.” What kind of arrogant bastard forced others to celebrate that. His suspicion grew. Though like real language, flowers were symbolic and often had multiple interpretations. Really, it all depended on the man’s dictionary. “Might I suggest Lobelia? It’ll balance out the white of the Azaleas and it means malevolence.” The blond man spluttered, flushing a fetching shade of red, and Crowley knew he had been right. Eventually, the man managed to form the words. “Ah, yes. Yes. That’s very good. Thank you.” Finishing up the arrangement and only half-fighting the smirk stretching across his face, Crowley noted it wasn’t the most beautiful, but it’s almost cottage/wildflower vibe would somehow suit the man. He wrapped a ribbon around it and pulled out a tag. “And who can I address this lovely bouquet to?” He didn’t usually do this unless the flowers were sent out for delivery, but it’s not like the man would know. “Gabriel.” “And who is it from?” “I can do that-” “Nonsense, I have nice handwriting.” The man looked nervously at the piece of paper. “Very well, it’s Aziraphale.” Huh, Two for two for angelic names. Aziraphale wasn’t a common one that was pulled. As he penned the name, he felt a small fissure of satisfaction. Most certainly not excitement. No, he was just happy to place a name to one of the most interesting customers he’d had in a while. 

“Here we are.” “Thank you, how much do I owe you?” Aziraphale still looked a little embarrassed, but mostly relieved as he paid, leaving a large tip in the jar he had out for Anathema because she deserved it and happened to garner a lot of tips as a pretty girl in a flower shop. “Thanks again for-” He made a little bashful gesture, “I’m sure they’ll like it.” Crowley didn’t stop his grin this time. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy giving it more. A nice subversive gesture you got there.” Aziraphale almost tripped on the doormat. “I wouldn’t say subversive exactly, it is easily accessible information.” “If he cared to look.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted from the door back to him, and said hesitantly with a small smile. “If he cared to look.” The feeling of co-conspiracy warmed him, and gave a little wave to the man. He left, and Crowley’s eyes trailed after his form. Imagining the sincere man with green guileless eyes giving a bouquet that plainly insulted his boss delighted him. Crowley laughed out loud in the empty store in what had been a long, long time. 


	2. Deliberations

Aziraphale gave the bouquet an apologetic pat as he settled into the back of a cab. Picking it up disrupted his usual morning commute, but once he had the idea in his head to he had to follow through. He knew there would be an exorbitant amount of ritualistic ingratiation and that he would be expected to partake. Well, if Aziraphale had to kiss ass he would certainly do it on his own terms, which is to say, outwardly complying while he internally held onto his small streak of rebellion. He hadn’t expected anyone to recognize it and his interaction with the red-haired florist had left him off-balanced. Oh, if only he hadn’t mentioned his book on flower language then the man wouldn't have known that he knew what those flowers meant. But, coming so early in the morning, he felt like he had to explain himself, an in-between point between an apology and an excuse. When the florist had cut him off with a wave of his hand, Aziraphale had felt relief after the necessary initial annoyance.   
That was, until the florist suggested Lobelia and he knew he had been caught. The red heat of embarrassment threw his denials into disarray. Instead, he said “thank you.” Sure, the man had seemed amused in a jesting insouciant manner, but now he must think Aziraphale was an embittered duplicitous bloke. He knew himself to be a nice enough man. The effort and drive had always been natural and he had worked consciously to be compassionate and kind as well; so why was it that the goth rockstar-esque florist’s opinion mattered to him? He was likely to never see him again. Sighing, he attempted to put the whole encounter behind him. He would need the rest of the cab ride and morning to mentally prepare himself for the hell that was corporate functions. 

Much too soon, the cab arrived. Aziraphale got out, careful not to smush the flowers, and thanked the cabbie. It was still rather early, a fine misting drifting down from the sky. He would have a few hours of work before he had to attend. As with every morning, he felt a small tug of apprehension upon entering the spacious sterile building. He had figured that was simply the aesthetic that they were aiming for, and even as an employee he would still be affected by it, despite having working here since he was out of law school. 

He greeted the secretary with a few small pleasantries. Dorothy was a small middle-aged woman who looked rather stern and uptight, but had the same love as cooking shows as he did and great gossip about his coworkers, so he always made time for her. Sadly, she wouldn’t be in attendance later on as someone needed to answer the phones and record the resulting missing work. “Those are some really pretty flowers you got there, pity Gabirel’s getting them.” Aziraphale smiled, “Yes, ah, I figure a gift speaks for itself, so that, heaven forbid, I don’t have to. I think Gabriel and I will both enjoy that.” She chuckled with just the right amount of understanding. “It’s because, you might play their game, but you aren’t--” Here, she made a face and gesture to relay to conversations past, that while he was a lawyer, he wasn’t like his other coworkers, who were aggressive, close-minded, domineering types- “and they aren’t interested in actual human interaction, just ego-stroking.” Aziraphale agreed, “Yes, but I still have to play the game so to speak. I’ll try to sneak a plate out here later, God knows I’ll need a break.” Dorothy replied, “Thank you, I’m not looking forward to taking messages and telling people we’ll get back to them.” 

At his desk, Aziraphale wondered, if he should put the flowers in water, but settled for having them upright. It wouldn’t do for them to drip everywhere later on. Though he knew the flowers were bound by unpleasant intentions they had a rather nice pleasant presence. The elegant hydrangeas and lobelias were offset by the spiky azaleas and spindly lavender and borage. It was a nice arrangement despite it being purple and white, Gabriel’s trademark colors. Maybe he would have to pick some up sometime, if only to have something to brighten his desk. However,  hIs embarrassing encounter rushed back to him and he turned his attention back to work. 

Before he was entirely comfortable with the idea of being entirely uncomfortable for the duration of a good few hours, it was time to go mingle. He fussed over his cluttered papers, clothes, and flowers before he made he set off, praying that something, anything would happen to get him out of this. He’d even take the end of the world at this point.  

Unfortunately, nothing happened and he entered the party, nearly everyone present. Though he didn’t want to go talk to Gabriel, he would look odd wandering around with flowers, so he took a fortifying breath and set off to his table. “Gabriel! Good morning.” Gabriel looked up, and put on and entirely false too wide smile. “Aziraphale! Glad you could make it.” Which is to say Gabriel noticed his tardiness. Aziraphale brushed past this and held out the flowers, less like giving and more like a shield. “These are for you, congratulations on 10 years. Here’s to another 10.” Gabirel took the flowers like they were instead a stack of paperwork. “Flowers…. How sweet.” He set them down to a side and Aziraphale strangely enough, felt indignant on the flowers behalf. They would probably be thrown out as right after the party. They deserved a better fate. “Well I-” Gabriel’s gaze sharpened to something behind him and Aziraphale turned around. Dorothy was hanging around at the entrance, searching the room while a distraught woman with smeared make-up stood behind her. Gabriel admonished. “Don’t recognize the woman. Not even half an hour in and Dorothy let’s someone in. What a soft touch.” Aziraphale had heard enough things in the past like this to be not be taken aback, but his own sense of decency still called out to be unleashed. Instead, Aziraphale turned his best simpering smile towards Gabriel, “I’ll go take care of them, no need to trouble yourself at your own party.” Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Would you? That’d be great. You’re always such a hard worker.” And with that, he was dismissed. 

He made his way to the two women, a glance at Dorothy conveying a great deal. “Hello Mizz…?” “Bennet” The woman hiccuped. “Mizz Bennet. Let’s go to my office and we can get all sorted out, hmm?”

Aziraphale made tea for the both of them with the electric kettle he had in his office. It had turned out Ms. Bennet husband had been assaulted and had ended up in the hospital. At hearing that, he felt a pang of guilt for praying for anything to happen so that he would be spared the horrors of socializing, though it was irrational. Mr. Bennet had woken up today after two days of sleeping and had requested a lawyer, saying he knew his perpetrators. She relayed all that she knew which started to give him a good groundwork on the case. They arranged that in two days, when he was cleared for visitors outside the immediate family, he would come and talk to the man himself. The woman left after a good hour and a half, still distressed, but voice a good deal steadier.   
It couldn’t be helped, Aziraphale spend another few hours preparing, brushing up on the laws and guidelines he would need. Though, today had been a bit of a half-day for Gabriels company party, so Aziraphale left early. As he was walking past they hall, he saw his bouquet in the trash. He sighed, he had known this would happen. He tugged them out gently, fortunately they had been on top and not buried in paper plates with cake still on them. Which reminded him, _he had missed the cake._ Perhaps he would go to one of his favorite gourmet cake stores later, to cheer himself up. Already, he could feel a bit more pep in his step. As he pushed the door open to the now torrential downpour, he thought that since flowers had been nice in his office, he should get some for Mr. Bennet. Getting flowers for someone in the hospital was a common thing that was done, wasn’t  it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zira, we know you just want to go back

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted the trope reversal of Aziraphale buying the "fuck you" bouquet and the flowershop suits Crowley, right? I love slowburn, but that means a lot of writing which I don't always have time for, but I'll try!!!


End file.
